I have dreamt of this for so long. It's just a corner of the playroom. The shelves are old and basic, and too small. The table is borrowed only until May. The wallpaper is awaiting redecorating.
But it is my little space and when I see it, all I can do is smile and force myself to turn away from the lure of the sewing machine. I want to sit there all the time. Sun streams in through the afternoon window, and in my peripheral vision I see the world walking past. My Nanna's antique Indian embroidered tablecloth lies on the table. My dad's antique embroidered Christening gown and underdress hang from the picture frame. The piles of not-neatly-enough folded fabrics look set to topple, and call me to stitching. Bags I have made hang from the shelving; quiet moments of pride. Swatches of felt I love from Giant Dwarf tease me on the wall. Books and magazines lie patiently on the shelves, as does an undressed pillow, drawers of buttons and ribbons, and an old box of felt. My sewing machine is patient but welcoming. It wants to sing a stitching tune. All the while that I am not sat there dancing with it, I am humming its song to myself. Round and round the song goes in my head, as the housework and child rearing take precedence. Then an hour or two can be grabbed and we waltz again.